2 Dimensional
by KaosChild
Summary: Because Loki could never just be a 2 Dimensional Villain, and something always has to go wrong


Because asking Loki to be a 2D villain was just impossible.

~~~~~~I REALLY SHOULD BE STUDYING~~~~~~

Somehow he managed to do in death what he couldn't in life. The world was his, under his feet and on their knees, because Loki could never be predictable. He could never just be the villain that wanted to crush the earth beneath his iron fist, and he couldn't be just another man with a mad dash at power. He could never just _be_, as much as everyone wished he was so that their hearts weren't flattened and crushed under his eyes.

In death he became somewhat of a martyr.

It wasn't like the martyrdom of Elvis or Marilyn; it was so much more, so much grander, and something the whole world stopped to weep for.

Today, the fourth year anniversary of the younger prince's death, and the city was filled with people holding candles in their hands, lanterns prepared to fly through the sky in his name. Wood prepared in a tower for when night fell to be set alight in remembrance of the fire god who stole the hearts of the living in his departure.

All the lights in the city will be turned off, but it will glow for miles around with the flames the public will light and dance and mourn around.

The fourth anniversary.

He still can't stop the images from running through his head.

Because somehow, in death, the God of Mischief managed to place a soul-crushing guilt over those who saved the world from him. Thor is ready to rip the world apart with grief and a type of guilt that Clint harbours as well, making him want to stick an arrow in his _own_ eye. It makes Steve's can-do attitude run away to the deepest darkest corners and Natasha's masks crumble under the weight. The Hulk cannot even escape it, and even a fleeting mentioning of the subject has him deflating and reverting into a Bruce on the verge of crying his eyes dry being weighed down with a plethora of sympathy. And it makes him, Tony Stark, notorious i-don't-care-about-you asshole want to dig himself a hole and live there until the universe collapses on itself and he doesn't have to deal with the fact that things like that can happen.

But Madam Death never was kind, and fate always was a fickle mistress.

Four years ago, to the day, when Loki could never just _be_ and had to die instead.

The battle had not gone for long, not with the new magic-cutting technology that was honestly still in the prototype stages, and especially not with the new weapon Thor had gained from Asgard to use in the fight against his poor little brother.

They had Loki backed against a wall, herding him into the area where the magic-flow would be stemmed. It was fine, even as he stepped over the line, even as the god noted the absence of his power immediately. There was a wall behind him and the Avengers in front of him with no magic at his disposal he was nothing more than a cornered animal.

The world watched on through camera's following them around, recording every action and playing it live.

And yet Loki turned malicious blue eyes on them, battle ready and confident that he could escape.

Until Thor used the new weapon.

They had no idea what it was, just that it would be enough to knock out someone like the trickster in front of them. And did it, boy did it; sending flying purple arcs across his body that made him arc and scream and _scream_. It didn't just flow once, the ripples crossed his frame over and over again, and Loki screamed with so much force you could practically feel the pain yourself. But he stood his ground and he did not fall.

Finally, _finally_, the arcing stopped. He didn't think he could listen to that scream for much longer anyway. But Loki wasn't down, no, he stood with his weight slightly on the staff in his hand, but it was evident that the weapon hadn't done as was intended. No, instead it opened their chests and ripped out their hearts as the raven-haired god lifted his head and showed them eyes surrounded by webbed black veins, peeling away from the orbs and making their way back through his hair, down his neck, out of sight.

He watched as those eyes bled from familiar ice-cold blue to a natural green, and he can remember with clarity the moment his brain came to the horrid realisation.

Loki's mouth opened and the world watched on with them as the first word to escape his lips in a tone that had tears threatening to fill his eyes was; "_Brother_," so weak and pitiful and hurting.

The thunder god, along with the rest of them, was rooted to the spot.

"Kill me," Loki addressed them, standing straight and letting the staff in his hands clatter to the ground in a noise that hurt his ears in the deafening silence.

He couldn't explain it if he tried, not to justice, the way his heart felt like the shrapnel was burrowing in, arc reactor or no, in the moments they realised that everything had gone so terribly, horribly wrong.

"Loki, no." Thor pleaded back, and his chest was constricting like the suit was a vacuum and was trying to crush him whole.

"Please, before it comes back," Loki begged, taking a step forward on shaky feet, eyes bright and shining like nothing he'd ever seen. The black of the veins receded until they were no more, but Loki's voice was still so hollow. "I never meant for it, any of it." Loki told them, one trembling hand reaching up and unhooking the shoulder strap, letting the golden armour fall to the floor. "I'm sorry," he promised, shedding the coat and letting it drop to the floor where the vambraces followed, helmet rolling across the ground as he tossed it from his head, "I couldn't stop it," layer after layer fell to the ground, "I'm so, so sorry," Loki's voice choked out as the last piece of fabric fell to the ground and the marble beauty was left in front of them.

They hardly had enough conscious left to allow themselves to breathe, let alone answer the tragic god who was therefore left to his monologue.

The wind whipped around them and almost carried off the pleas of "I never meant for it to happen,", "I'm sorry,", "Please, before it comes back," and "Kill me."

They stared on as the pleas became more urgent, a never ending flow of kill me, kill me, _kill me_.

The black started at his chest and as soon as Loki caught sight of it his pleas became sobs and cries and "Kill me!"

It worked its way towards his neck, branching out.

"Kill me!"

With increasing speed it travelled up his jaw.

"Kill me!"

Wrapped around from his hairline.

"Kill me!"

Made its way to his eyes.

"Kill me!"

The green clashed with the usual blue, the artificial blue.

"KILL ME!"

It was Steve who ended up doing as he asked, a swift swing of the shield knocking Loki to his knees before a barrel pressed against his chest and his heart was shredded into a thousand pieces, the red of his being splaying out the front messily and covered the wall behind him like a grotesque impersonation of wings, the wind providing no barrier for his last, whispered words; "Never doubt that I love you."

They'd killed an angel.

Four years ago to the day, they'd killed an angel and the world had watched on as the life drained from his eyes, his _green_ eyes.

Thor never forgave himself; how could he not have noticed the thing they fought wasn't actually his brother.

Clint was crushed; he said he'd considered the option. Maybe if he had of told them they could have stopped it and they could have saved Loki.

Natasha, the one who figured out how to stop it in the first place couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it on the god.

Steve could never tell himself he did the right thing when he ended the others life.

Bruce's mind, familiar with the loss of control, centred mainly around 'that could have been me' and 'we were the same; how did I miss it?'

And he, the mighty IronMan, was drowning under it all. He should have seen it, in the moments where he could almost talk the god into backing out – the only one who ever tried. And he knew, knew so well, the ways torture would open the mind and how the Chitauri would have used that.

On the first year anniversary Thor had told them all how Loki had always cared far more than others, and how they must have worked at him for an untold amount of time for Loki to be _that lost_. For his brother to be so hopeless that even the defences of a god were useless and the powers of the Chitauri were able to break his mind and make him follow their orders to destroy the planet.

And now, four years after the event and people across the globe stopped for the day.

It was a reminder, a harsh one at that, that not everyone can be saved. That no matter how hard you try sometimes bad things happen and that, no matter who you are, you can't save everyone.

The God of Mischief became a symbol of hope and despair all in one, when every year Thor would announce that his brother's soul hadn't met with Hel, the woman who guides the dead. It gave everyone hope.

Because somehow in death, Loki, who would have had the world beneath him had people praying for his revival.

Asgard wouldn't take his body; the elders in the council didn't want a frost giant on their holy grounds, and so it was left to Midgard. Abandoned like filth. Thor had just about broken the city with his rage fuelled thunderstorm that night, the night they also refused to deliver the ceremonial clothes one such as Loki should be buried in.

But Midgard cheered, in the most sombre way possible, as they got to keep _their_ god.

Luckily for Earth, it was only the older generation that didn't want the body of a frost giant in their home, as the younger were more versed in Loki's mischievous ways, used to the parties he used to host and the tricks he used to play, the help he used to give and the kindness he showed every citizen, no matter their class. It helped then, that they had grown older and were now professionals in their chosen fields.

Artists were sent to carve the statue Tony now stood in front of, the one set over his grave. It again caused further trouble when Asgard would not permit the stone usually used to depict those whom had died – they didn't think him worth even that.

Natasha suggested marble and Thor agreed, so with some enchantments to enhance it the magic substance was ready to be carved.

It was an image of Loki, of course, that Tony stood before now. The figure sitting on his knees, spread as they were, and initially Tony had laughed at that, saying it gave a detailed view of his crotch. Thor had laughed through his tears and said Loki never did have manner with the way he sat. The stone Loki's back was straight until it came to his neck which bowed forward just the slightest where his head rested, face concealed by a hood. It's said they tried to carve his eyes, but they couldn't get it right and so now, instead, no matter what time of day or however much light you shine on the area it remains shrouded in shadows due to magic, green gems just hinting their light out to shine down on whoever were to look. The figure's hands were cupped in front of him, the fingers tipping forwards so that the water that constantly streamed from his eyes and dripped onto his hands by magic would then in turn hit the ground and water the earth, cultivating it. This Loki only wore his battle pants and boots with a ring of fur that wrapped around his biceps and joined across his chest. The hood he wore wrapped around his neck and flowed down into a cape at the back but aside from that covered none of his body, so that the marble might represent him and his skin as best as possible. Tony wrapped his hand around one of the thick bracelets adorning the statues arm as he looked upon the large icon; something to hold onto when he felt like letting go.

It was night now, with Thor having lit the large bon fire mere minutes ago and yet it poured up into the sky with unstoppable light.

The young from Asgard had travelled here and even Heimdall had traded his post from the edge of the bifrost to next to Loki's grave for the night.

Soon, it would be time for them to make the speech in Loki's honour, the brightened lanterns creating new stars for them to watch for the night.

Some of the young sorcerers Loki had encouraged in his life replayed images of Loki at his parties, just a fragment memory where the people could see how he was, how he sung for others and used his magic to make music; Loki, singer of all songs.

There were replays of Loki's fire-dance, something apparently highly regarded back when he was considered worthy enough for his feet to grace Asgard's soil. The life and beauty in them was astounding and beautiful and it only made it that much worse as the meaning was hollow; it wasn't meant for now.

The men, human and Aesir were painted with white lines, the way Loki used to be painted at various ceremonies of his own, all shirtless and wearing the markings with pride.

Sweets were all that was eaten on the anniversaries; the food 'group' Loki apparently liked best.

Tonight, people would celebrate and mourn at the same time.

So when Thor finally made his way up the hill and next to the statue of his younger brother, looking down on the bonfire and people below, and told them that still, Loki's soul had not been seen by Hel everyone fell to silence, let their lanterns grace the air and prayed in unison that the lost prince – the trickster, the God of Mischief, Chaos, Lies and Fire, their _angel_ – would find peace.

And as if they were set to do so at a specific time, they cried, as one, for what was lost that could have been saved.

~~~~~~I REALLY SHOULD BE STUDYING~~~~~~

But no jokes, I should be studying :I

Ah well, what's done is done. And I felt like having a craptastic sad fest today, but then I was like 'happy ending!' which kinda sucked, which is why I did this twice lol (the happy ending's in the other version lol)

Leave your thoughts in a comment/review/whatevar

See you on the flip-side

Stay Awesome


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